


These Boys of Light

by Siria



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-14
Updated: 2007-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-03 19:40:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Spring Festival is a full day's joy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Boys of Light

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Jenn, as a belated birthday present.

The Spring Festival is a full day's joy—from the sharp, cool dawn when the oldest of the Athosians leads them out to greet the sun, Atlanteans and Athosians yawning and bright-eyed, to dusk, when the smallest toddler is coaxed through the evening ritual, his words greeted with applause, with careful admiration for a three year old's faltering salute to the fading sun.

All the hours in between are filled with food and laughter and dancing. People cluster around the huge ceremonial bonfire and spread out throughout the settlement, down the slope to the river; and wherever they go, the air is filled with music and the rhythm of the old Athosian dances, measured out in the clap of hands and the stamp of feet; the ground resounding to the wild whirl of the waltz when Lorne teaches to some of the teenagers, a dance which they give back to him with a fiercer grace than any he had known on Earth.

Teyla hands out cool stoneware jugs of fruit juice to those who join in John's impromptu, raucous game of football in the larger meadow. She smiles when ten over-excited children are enough to bring the military commander of Atlantis to the ground, little Mena sitting on his stomach, tickling him and cooing "Firs' down! Firs' down, I win!" while John laughs and laughs.

While the sun climbs higher, Ronon and a flushed Elizabeth take on all-comers in a three-legged race, winning with a matched and easy, loping stride. Cadman ropes Radek into showing the children—and a curious Halling—the precarious joy of an egg and spoon race using _rictha_ eggs that are a mottled purple and at least three times the size that any chicken on Earth could ever produce.

Radek displays a complete lack of co-ordination and manages to drop his egg three times, bright orange yolk smeared the length of his trousers. Rodney, passing by with a bowl full of Haltho's spiced stew, says mildly "Somewhat worrying, in an engineer"; John, who is scheduled to fly back to the city in a jumper that Radek repaired, can only quirk an eyebrow and agree.

When the races are run and the awards are given out by Teyla—with a smile to Elizabeth and laughter to Ronon, who has to stoop low for his crown of _bettha_ leaves, with appropriate solemnity to the children—John slopes off to find Rodney, knowing that he'll find him just outside the buzz and the heart of things.

He's lying down by the river when John finds him, sprawled out on his stomach on the sweet blue-green grass, half asleep and dreaming, as turned in on himself as John has ever seen him. He's smiling just a little, good humour lingering at the corners of his mouth, a smile that only becomes broader when John sits down next to him and strokes a hand down his back.

"Whatcha doin'?" John says, repressing a grin when Rodney cracks open one eyelid.

"What," Rodney says, with a sleepy kind of dignity, "does it look like I'm doing?"

"Gonna go out on a limb here and say taking a nap," John says, hand moving up the length of Rodney's back, over rumpled, sun-warmed cotton, up to shoulder and down the length of Rodney's arm to take one hand in his. Rodney turns his hand palm up, and John tangles their fingers together.

"Full marks for observation, Major," he mumbles.

"Hey," John says, "_Colonel_," because in his own way, he's as proud of that as Rodney is of the letters that trail after his name; but there's no reply, no snap and crack of sarcasm; Rodney's eyes are already closing again, lulled by food and warmth and John next to him. John rests their hands together loosely, strokes fingertips over the bumps of Rodney's knuckles, feather-light touches against skin pock-marked with scars from over-heated crystals and one from an errant knife; hums in time with Rodney's breathing as he brushes his thumb against the surprisingly soft skin of Rodney's palm.

They sit like that for an age, or for just a few moments, minds drifting and bodies lulled by their sense of each other, until Cadman and Teyla and Ronon run past them and leap into the river—Cadman shrieking and Teyla laughing and Ronon jumping into the water with a huge and blood-curdling yell, droplets flying up high enough to spatter John and Rodney on the bank.

Ronon yells up at them to come and swim. John blinks, because the day is warm—warmer than any spring day would be on Earth—but there's no way the river water can be anything other than icy, and maybe he's getting old, but no, no way. "Lunatics," Rodney mutters, turning over onto his back and squinting up at the sky, "Hypothermia. Unfeasible, undignified amounts of energy. C'mere."

He tugs John down next to him, and John goes without a murmur; he could argue with Rodney about his ideas of dignified activities, how he's done nothing more energetic today than eat sweet _halda_ fruit cakes and sleep by the riverside, how last night he had energy enough for them both, holding John down while he fucked him over and over, lazy and slow; he could, but he won't. He rests his head on Rodney's shoulder and slings an arm over Rodney's waist, a finger or two hooked into the waistband of his pants, where the skin is sun-warm and soft, and thinks maybe he'll stay here, just for a while.

"Hey," he says, "Rodney?"

"Shut up," Rodney says, "Sleep."

So John does.


End file.
